


Prompt Me!

by killuatrash (Epic_F_Awesomesauce)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Random - Freeform, hey what the fuck, please support me im gay, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-05-20 15:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19379377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epic_F_Awesomesauce/pseuds/killuatrash
Summary: I need to stretch the old writing muscle, and will be accepting prompts in the comments. While you can make additional requests, I need a few specifics; namely, a noun, an adjective, and a color. The rating on this might change, depending on the prompts (if any) that I get.





	1. Midnight Blue Sexual Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Harry doesn't know what to do with himself after the war. He decides to take a Muggle creative writing class; to his surprise, Draco Malfoy is also attending. To his horror, they are partnered together for an assignment about SEX.
> 
> This is entirely unedited so if you see any mistakes, typos, or just plain odd wording, lmk in the comments so that I can pray for my sins. Thank you.

Harry is nervous.

It seems ridiculous to be nervous about this, considering the other things that he has done, which were ultimately much more nerve-wracking than this, and yet. Here he was. Nervous. About a creative writing class.

It is Wednesday. Wednesday used to be Date Night, back when he and Ginny were together. For the past two months, it has been Takeout and Crying night. In fact, it was this time last week when he saw the sign posted on the corkboard in his favorite Indian place, mentioning a writing class at the local community center.

You need to stop moping and do something with yourself, Hermione had said the day before, when they'd had lunch together. She was interning to be a magical lawyer, although what she was doing couldn't really be called "interning" since she was basically creating magical lawyers in the process. Semantics.

Get over yourself mate, she already has, Ron had said the day before that, when Harry visited him with tea and biscuits at the shop.

Alright, Harry had thought to himself, shifting from one foot to the other as he waited for them to finish his biryani. I'll stop moping. I'll get over myself. I'll go to the class, and then he had ripped one of the little slips of paper from the bottom of the poster, which had the address, time, and a small supplies list: Bring a Notebook!

And now here he was, sitting on one of those desks that had chairs attached to it. It reminded him of primary school, to the point where he kept finding himself looking over his shoulder, expecting to see Dudley aiming a spitball at the back of his head.

He was sat next to one of the few windows, and he watched the sun slowly set over the London cityscape. The sky above was a deep midnight blue—well, between the clouds. There was a light rain falling, and he enjoyed the sound of it against the window pane. 

People were filing in through the door, but he didn't look over. He kept having flashbacks to being eight years old, waiting for everyone to sit down so that the class would start and he would be closer to recess.

He began bouncing his leg under his desk, unable to stop himself. He was full of anxiety. This was a bad idea. He should just get up now and leave, before the teacher saw him. He should just go— 

"Alright," said a woman's voice from the front of the class. "Everyone here? Good. Ohh, looks like we have some new people today! Would you two care to introduce yourselves?"

With panic rising in his throat, Harry turned to look to the front of the class. She couldn't mean him, could she? Maybe there were some other new people that she was talking about, and she hadn't noticed him. Maybe he still had time to escape.

Someone across the classroom to his left stood up, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. At least he didn't have to go first. He was trying to figure out what he would say: Hi, I'm Harry Potter, and I saved the world at seventeen and saved all of your lives, but I thought I was going to die before my eighteenth birthday and now I don't know what to do with myself, and with every day that passes I grow closer to the age my parents were when they were brutally murdered in front of me.

"Hello," said a familiar posh voice. "My name is Draco Malfoy."

Harry's head jerked around almost without volition and his mouth dropped open in surprise.

"This is my first time trying to write," the voice continued. "It's also my first time taking a class that's more orthodox in its teaching methods, so I'm interested in seeing the difference it will make in my education."

The teacher said something, sounding very polite and perhaps a little put off by Malfoy's posh accent—he sounded like he regularly had tea with the Queen—but Harry was too busy gaping across the room to really register what she said. It was only when she repeated, for possibly the second time, "And what about you?" that Harry turned back to the front of the class.

Malfoy had not looked over the entire time Harry stared at him, and so in a moment of insanity Harry thought he would disguise his voice so that Malfoy wouldn't realize they were in the same class.

"Hello," Harry said in a high, warbling voice. "My name is, er, Herman."

The teacher looked at him expectantly; Harry felt a drop of sweat slide down his back. He chanced a glance across the classroom. The bright lights were making him feel as if he was dreaming, and he felt a bit nauseous. Luckily, Malfoy had not looked over, despite how terrible Harry's disguise sounded. He expected to be seen through almost immediately, but Malfoy seemed intent upon the spiral-bound notebook in front of him.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell us about yourself?" the teacher prompted. She had curly brown shoulder-length hair and wore big glasses reminiscent of Professor Trelawney, which Harry was sure added to his nerves. After all, Trelawney had told him daily that he was going to die a horrendous death.

Harry panicked.

"I killed somebody," he blurted out, voice still high. He sounded like that time in third year when Neville had lost Trevor and spent a half hour in the common room crying. As soon as he was done speaking everyone in the class turned horrified gazes to him, including the teacher—including Malfoy.

"You've got to be kidding me," Malfoy said, voice still impossibly posh. They locked gazes for a moment, and then Harry looked back to the teacher.

"Just kidding," he said weakly, trying to laugh. "Haha. Just a bit of humor for you. I'm, ah, a stand-up comedian."

Across the room, Malfoy buried his face in his hands.

 

***

 

"For today's lesson we're going to be exploring the topics of love and sex," the teacher said. At some point she had introduced herself, but Harry was far too busy not looking at Malfoy to listen to a word she said. Well, up until she said "sex", at which point Harry had turned to look at the front of the class with what could only be described as fear. Aside from like, being tortured at age fourteen, he did think he'd ever been as afraid as he was now, and it was really fucking dramatic. 

Who knew that all Voldemort would have had to do is make him think about sex while in a creative writing class with Malfoy to really put the fear of God in him. Would've been a lot easier than spelling a cup into a portkey, that's for sure. Honestly, Harry would easily cut his own arm open right now if it would mean getting out of this class without making a scene. The only thing he wanted less than to be here right now was to make a scene.

"We're going to be partnering up for this exercise. Everyone, with your usual assigned partners, please. Harry and Draco, since you're both new you can be together."

Harry made a sort of choking noise that was part scream part spit. He could feel Malfoy's eyes on him from across the room, and he knew without looking that he was just as horrified as Harry.

"Um, Professor?" came Malfoy's voice from across the room.

"Call me Andrea, please, I'm not a professor," said Andrea, straightening her glasses.

"Andrea," Malfoy corrected. "Is there any way I can be assigned a different partner?"

Andrea frowned. "For what reason would you need a different partner? You haven't even spoken to poor Harry, you're going to make him insecure."

Malfoy's face twitched, as if he wanted to sneer but didn't want to offend anyone—aside from Harry, of course. "I just feel like I would get along better with someone, er…" His voice trailed off as if he couldn't figure out how to finish the sentence.

Andrea frowned. "I hope this isn't a race thing, because this class is discrimination free, and I will not tolerate any untoward behavior."

Malfoy turned a bright pink; about the same shade Harry would be right now, if he wasn't a race thing.

"Of course not," Malfoy said. "That's not it at all, I don't have anything against, er, races."

Even from across the room Harry could see sweat beading on his brow—which he now noticed was framed by white-blond hair. Apparently Malfoy had decided to stop slicking his hair back all the time, making him look a lot less like a vampire and a lot more like a goth teenager with an iron deficiency. 

"Good," Andrea said, in a voice that brokered no room for arguments. "Then go ahead and sit by Harry. I'll write the prompt on the board."

Malfoy slowly got up from his desk, grabbed his notebook, and traipsed across the room, looking as if he wished he could sink into the floor, or maybe go back in time to before class and slip on the sidewalk and die, which was what Harry had been wishing had happened ever since he saw Malfoy across the room.

"Hullo," Harry said. He had his pen in his hand and was tapping it against his desk. This, combined with the leg that he could not stop bouncing, made it seem as if he was starting up a one-man a capella band.

Malfoy sat at the desk to Harry's left, opened up his notebook, and grabbed his pen from where it was tucked into the spiral.

"How's the stand-up coming along?" he asked, not looking over.

Harry barked a laugh, surprised and anxious and jittery. He clapped his hands over his mouth at the noise, looking around the class to see if anyone had noticed. No one was looking back at them, thank Merlin. Instead they all had their eyes on the blackboard, where Andrea was writing a series of words that, in combination, made Harry want to vomit.

Chocolate sauce. Champagne. Carpet burns. Confessions. Creaky wood floors.

Underneath the words she wrote, in big letters, SEX, then underlined it not once, but TWICE.

"Merlin and Morgana both," Malfoy said. "Cock and bollocks. Twice? Really? Is this a pornography class?"

Harry chokes again, on nothing again. He never thought he'd hear Malfoy say pornography, and yet here he was, having heard him just say it.

"Not to mention the inconsistencies in the prompts. How is one supposed to obtain carpet burn if the floors are wooden? Are they fucking on the floor, and if so is there carpet or not? Is there an area rug? This is ridiculous."

"Please stop," Harry said, though his protestations were weak. Malfoy talking was actually doing something to ease his nerves; he didn't know if he could survive this night in complete silence.

"Also, who brings chocolate sauce to the bedroom? This sounds like the straights to me. I, for one, as a self-respecting gay man, would never allow chocolate sauce anywhere near my arsehole."

Harry made a noise that was somewhere between a cry of fear and a moan of pain.

"Although I guess it doesn't explicitly say the chocolate sauce has to be used as lube, so I guess that might be me misunderstanding the prompt."

"What, you would eat the chocolate sauce?" Harry asked, unable to stay silent any longer. "During sex? Like, 'Hey babe, pause for a minute so I can take a swig of this.'"

Malfoy shrugged, finally meeting Harry's eyes. "I don't know. How do the straights do it?" he asked.

Harry spluttered. "How on earth should I know?"

"Well, you're straight, aren't you?"

Harry grimaced. "No? Of course not."

Malfoy grimaced back. "What the fuck are you on about, of course you are. You were dating the girl Weasley."

"You were dating Pansy," Harry said.

"It was just for show," Malfoy said. "I didn't want my father thinking I was queer. Seemed important at the time. Now, it seems less so."

"Well," Harry said, straightening his shoulders and sitting up straight. "I was dating Ginny, but I also kissed her brother, which put a damper on things."

Malfoy looked horrified. "Ronald?" he asked.

"Ew, no," Harry said. "Circe, could you imagine? No, it was Charlie."

"Charlie?"

"The dragon one."

Malfoy laid his hands flat on his desk, looking confused and very annoyed. "There's a dragon Weasley?"

"He lives in Romania," Harry said. "He studies dragons. He came back after the war, and we hung out. He used to be Gryffindor seeker. We played seeker's quidditch. Then he kissed me, and then I was like, 'Well, maybe I shouldn't be dating your sister.'"

"He just kissed his sister's boyfriend?" Malfoy asked. "This is. I don't like this. Aren't they like your family? That's like kissing your brother."

Harry made a face. "I don't have a brother, so I wouldn't know. Anyway, we're getting off track. Let's just write this thing so that I can go home and drink myself to death."

"Ah yes," Malfoy said. "Alcohol. If only Voldemort had tried that. Surprised it never came up while planning your death. 'Lads, let's just get him fucking pissed and see what happens.'"

Harry stared. "Please don't tell me he called you lot 'lads'."

"He didn't," Malfoy said. "I'm just nervous. Pansy says I overshare when I'm nervous. She also says I make things up, and so she told me I should go to a writing class so that I could make stuff up professionally. When she finds out you were here she's going to piss herself laughing, I think."

"Not to be rude," Harry said, "but I will be telling nobody about this. No one. If I was given Veritaserum and asked about this class, I would bite off my own tongue instead of speaking."

Malfoy nodded, sketching something in the margin of his notebook. "That's entirely understandable, as well as respectable. You're a stand-up member of society."

"Thank you," Harry said. And then, "I suppose they could lick it out of each other's mouths."

Malfoy's face grew very very pink and he stopped his scribbling. "I'm sorry?"

Harry's face grew warm, and suddenly his collar felt very tight around his neck. "Uh, the chocolate sauce."

"Oh," Malfoy said. He had a smattering of light freckles across his nose and cheeks, Harry noticed. They were especially visible now that his skin was pink instead of ivory. He was one of the palest people Harry'd ever seen, besides Voldemort, who was albino.

"They get drunk on champagne," Harry said. "Find a bottle of chocolate sauce, lick it out of each other's mouths, walk up the creaky wooden stairs, and then fuck on the floor? What's the other prompt word?"

"I don't like this," Malfoy muttered, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "I am not fond of this situation. I am not comfortable in this environment. I do not enjoy the way this conversation is going. I suppose they could confess their love for each other afterwards?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Er. Yeah. I guess. Yeah."

Malfoy was silent for a moment. Harry wrote down, lick chocolate out, then scratched his pen over it. No. He was not writing that down. He shouldn't have even said that.

"This is disgusting," Malfoy said. "This is terrible. I don't like this at all. I suppose they should be people who went to school together, otherwise how would they confess their love to each other? Maybe they met at a pub?"

Harry snorted. "Maybe they met at a run-down community center."

Malfoy was silent again.

"Just kidding," Harry said. "I just realized what we're talking about. I'm not going to lick chocolate sauce out of your mouth."

Malfoy's face was slowly turning from pink to red.

"I don't want to," Harry added, realizing he hadn't said that. "I don't want to lick chocolate sauce out of your mouth."

Although, it didn't sound like a terrible idea. Well, with Malfoy it did, but in general it didn't seem like it would be that terrible.

"I really hate this," Malfoy said. "I really do. So, they used to go to school together, they lock eyes across the pub, one comes over to sit next to the other, they flirt, they drink champagne. One says, 'I live near here,' the other says, 'Sounds good,' and they pay their tab and leave."

"Who pays?" Harry asked.

Malfoy looked over at him, skin still a blinding shade of red. "Does it matter?"

"Guess not," Harry said, still flustered beyond belief. "Continue."

"I don't want to," Malfoy said. "I did the beginning, you do the rest."

Harry swallowed. "Er, okay. So they walk to the one guy's flat—his name can be, er, Oliver? They walk to, er, Oliver's flat and go inside, and the floor is wooden and creaky."

"Is it supposed to be a plot point, that the floor is creaky? Or just a general description."

Harry shrugged, feeling put out. "I don't know! Does it matter? The floor is fucking creaky, Malfoy!"

"Is everything okay here?" asked a voice from in front of them. They both jumped; Malfoy's pen flew out of his hand, and Harry banged his knee against his desk. Andrea was standing in front of them, looking concerned. "You two look as if you're having some creative differences."

Harry wanted to cry a little. Creative differences. If only that's what they were having, instead of the weirdest school reunion possible. Creative differences. Was it a creative or bland difference that they had both tried to kill each other at one point in time?

"We're just having normal differences," Malfoy said, smiling in a way that said, I'm rich and you should leave me alone.

"O-kay," Andrea said, looking doubtful. "If you have any questions or need any help, don't be afraid to talk to me."

They both watched her walk away, decidedly not looking at each other. Harry wished he had a drink; either alcohol or arsenic. Or maybe absinthe. Absinthe mixed with arsenic; what a way to go.

"Okay, the creaky floor is just a passing detail, they don't make it to Oliver's room, and they fuck on the sitting room floor and get rugburn," Malfoy said all in a rush. "Quick, right it down. I want to leave."

"You write it down!" Harry said.

"You're the one with the pen," Malfoy pointed out. 

Harry threw the pen at him.

 

***

 

In the end Malfoy wrote it down. It was a grand total of, at most, one hundred words. Harry had written Divination assignments longer, but they had also been much easier. He wished he was writing a divination assignment the whole time.

The story went like this: Bruce was at a bar. So was Oliver. They knew each other from school. They got to talking, had champagne, and got drunk. Oliver said he lived nearby, so they went to his flat. The floors of his flat were wooden and creaky. Oliver had chocolate sauce in his fridge. He squirted some in his mouth, then kissed Bruce. Then they had sex on the rug and got rugburn. Then Bruce said, "I'm in love with you." The end.

"I need to get drunk," Harry said, reading it over. "Preferably not on champagne. Preferably to the point where I wake up tomorrow morning with a bad headache and no memory of this night."

"Frankly," Malfoy said, "I need some comfort food. Chips, maybe. Tequila."

"Tequila is your comfort food?" Harry asked with a laugh. He was putting his notebook away in his shoulder bag. Malfoy was ripping off the page on which they had written their story. They were both in agreement that they would not be attending another class.

"Is it not yours?" Malfoy asked. "I'm appalled. Tequila is the most comforting thing in the world. You know that at the end of the night you won't remember anything, and that the next morning you'll want to kill yourself. I already want to kill myself, but it has the added bonus of making me forget that for a couple of hours."

Harry nodded. "Yes, I see what you mean. Very comforting."

Everyone else was filing out of the class, and Andrea was wiping down the chalkboard. Harry shuffled his feet.

"So," he said.

"Fancy a pint?" Malfoy asked.

Harry looked up at him. "Of beer?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Of tequila, you git."

Harry nodded without hesitation. "Oh, yes, definitely. I hope to not recognize you by the end of the night."

"Lovely," Malfoy said. "I wish you luck. Let's go."


	2. Soft Purple Watermelon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I got this prompt from my friend who literally picked any random words. She had no idea what I was going to use them for.

"Huh," Harry said.

"Well," Malfoy said. "That's not supposed to look like that."

"No," Harry agreed, staring down at the desk between them. What had once been a soft purple sock was now a soft purple watermelon, instead of just a normal one.

"I think that you might need to work on your transfiguration skills," Malfoy said.

"Huh," Harry said again. He could feel his eyebrow begin to twitch. "Are you sure? I think I'm pretty good. After all, Professor Ashanti wanted us to make a weird purple watermelon."

Malfoy turned to glare at him, a small sneer twisting his mouth. It was not the same sneer that Harry had been all-too familiar with in the years before Voldemort was vanquished. It was a smaller, slightly nicer one, and Harry did not feel as desperately angry when he saw it.

"I wasn't trying to be rude, Potter," Malfoy said. "I just meant that I am quite good at transfiguration and, if you want, I could tutor you."

Harry hesitated, grinding his teeth together lightly. "Why would you do that?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Turn over a new leaf? Make a new and better impression? Suck up to the Savior of the Wizarding World so that I'm not as much of a pariah? Take your pick."

Harry's mouth curled into a smile despite his efforts to the contrary. "Can I pick the turning over a new leaf? It sounds much more noble."

Malfoy hesitated, then gave a small smile back. "Sure."

"Thanks, Malfoy," Harry said.

Malfoy shrugged, a light pink color flooding his cheeks. He chewed his lip for a moment, then said, "Call me Draco," and stuck out his hand.

Harry looked from Malfoy's—Draco's—hand, then up to his face, then reached out and took it, giving it a firm shake.

"Thanks, Draco," he said.

Malfoy smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to comment a request!!! I need a noun, an adjective, and a color!


	3. Mockingbird, languid, gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Wynterfox for the prompt!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is entirely unedited, and its one-thirty in the morning and I have work tomorrow so.... forgive me please. I just couldn't wait to fill this request, and honestly I kind of love the little universe i built with this.

He was leaning against a tree, surrounded by soft ferns and the gentle golden glow of the afternoon sunlight. His hair was so light it was nearly white, but the sun gave it strands of dark blond, gold, and copper. His skin was pale as a cloud, his cheeks pink like a rose. His eyes were gray as a stormcloud, and he was all dramatic angles and sharp shadows.

He was tall, and he leaned against the tree as if he belonged there; as if he had been born to lean against this tree, and had practiced and perfected it. The expression on his face was that of disdainful boredom, and he looked down at his fingernails as if he expected to find something there. Maybe a secret, maybe a treasure, maybe a speck of dirt.

He was not wearing clothing; the Fair Folk never do. His torso was long and lean, stomach muscles defined but not grotesque. His waist was slim, his shoulders broader, and his arms lightly muscled in a way that spoke of manual labor, though his general demeanor spoke of languid privilege.

He looked up as Harry approached. His hair fell into his face in a wave, soft and fine as feathers. There was a mockingbird standing on his shoulder, and it chirruped as Harry came near.

"Draco," Harry said. He tried not to look at him, not to let his eyes roam across his body, but it was impossible. The Fair Folk came by that name for a reason; they were fair of body, features as delicate and charming as stained glass. Every curve and angle of his body caused Harry's heart to pump faster in his chest. And his cock… Harry had never thought of himself as gay before, but every time he was near Draco any assumptions about his sexuality flew away; his sexuality was this, it was Draco.

"Draco," repeated the bird, singsong and childish.

"Harry," Draco said. His voice was just as melodic as his the mockingbird upon his shoulder. "What brings you here?"

As if he didn't already know.

"My village has been robbed," Harry said. "Though I'm sure you already know this."

"My village has been robbed," echoed the bird.

"Why would I know anything of the goings-on of your village?" Draco asked, letting out a sigh that illustrated how tedious he thought this conversation was. "I care naught for the qualms or problems of mortals. They are so small, and their lives pass in just the blink of an eye. I don't know how you stand it."

"It doesn't matter how I stand it," Harry said. "I would like to know what happened to the gold in our coffers. The people of my village will starve and die if we do not pay our taxes by this coming Friday, and I will not let that happen."

"It doesn't matter how I stand it," the mockingbird repeated. It jumped from Draco's left shoulder to his right, and Draco held out a long, lithe finger to stroke it's little chest. His nails were well-groomed and shiny, his hands long-fingered and strong. Harry desperately wanted to feel those hands, those fingers, against his skin. He tried to ignore it.

"Just let the humans die, Harry," Draco said softly. He was looking at his bird, watching as it hopped from his shoulder to his index finger. "Come join us in the Wood."

"No," Harry said. "I do not belong in the Wood. I belong with my people."

"I do not belong in the Wood—" the bird began. Draco whispered a soft hush, and the bird stilled.

"We are your people," Draco said, turning dark gray eyes on Harry once more. His ears were pointed and long, long enough that they poked through his silken hair. Harry longed to feel them underneath his fingertips.

"I am human," Harry said.

Draco walked forward with a strange, feline grace, stepping first on the balls of his feet before he let his heels touch the earth. The plants in front of him seemed to part as he passed, shifting and growing to the left and the right to create a path for him to walk. Moss grew under him even as his feet touched the ground.

"You are not," Draco said. His voice was soft; it didn't need to be loud, because he was standing close enough to Harry that a whisper was enough for him to be heard.

"I am not a faerie," Harry said, scowling.

"No," Draco said. He reached out a graceful-fingered hand, and tugged on one of Harry's curls. "You are not a faerie. You are something else."

"I am human," Harry insisted stubbornly. "My mother lived in my village. I was raised by humans. I am human."

Draco leaned forward and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Draco smiled, revealing teeth that were just slightly too sharp. His breath smelled sweet, like honey and mulled mead and chamomile.

"If you were entirely human, I would not find you half as enticing as I do," Draco said. Every word was another puff of air, every puff of air another sweet-scented cloud.

"If I were fae," Harry whispered back, "I would find you far more attractive than I do."

Draco stepped back. He was still smiling, but his eyes were darkened.

"If I were fae," repeated the bird.

"Hush," Draco said to it. "Now is not the time."

"Now is not the time," the bird chirped.

"Do you enjoy having a mockingbird for a familiar?" Harry asked with a smirk. He could tell from the shift of Draco's jaw that he was annoyed, but trying not to show it.

"Do you enjoy having nothing for a familiar?" Draco retorted. His bird sand lightly, then spread its wings and took off into the air, circling around above them.

"Hm," Harry said. He did not look at Draco. "Do you know what happened to our gold?"

Draco huffed a breath, and now he was showing his annoyance on his face. "Your father was Fair. You know this. I have told you, again and again. You belong with us."

"Do you know what happened to our gold?" Harry repeated. "We need it before Friday."

Draco huffed again, then waved a long-fingered hand. A chest of gold appeared on the ground between them. Harry stooped to pick it up. Though it was heavy, he lifted it easily. He could feel Draco's eyes on him as he did.

"You are stronger than a human," Draco said.

"Not as strong as a Faerie," Harry countered.

"No," Draco agreed. "You are not a Faerie. You are half and half."

Harry clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on the chest in his hands. "I am a human, and I would advise not bringing this up again."

Draco smiled. It was feral now, his teeth longer and sharper than they had been before. "What will you do about it, little human? Will you hurt me? Stab me, with your simple wooden sticks? Hurt me with your iron?

"Oh wait," Draco continued with a laugh. "You cannot touch iron can you, little fae-ling? It burns you, does it not?"

Harry ground his teeth together, wishing that Draco was wrong. "I just don't like metal," Harry said. "It's not natural."

Draco sneered. "Your wooden weapons cannot harm me," he said. "Your feeble attempts at threats cannot scare me."

Harry shrugged, turned around. "Leave me alone," he said. "Leave us alone."

Draco did not reply, but Harry could feel his gray eyes on his back all the way to the edge of the forest.

 

***

 

Friday came, and Harry's village paid their taxes, handing the chest over to the representative from the king. He was a tall man with dark hair, pale skin, and a cruel curve to his lips. He enjoyed running down villages with his large black horse, scaring women and children to tears. He had once had a man in the village whipped for spitting in front of him, and since then everyone had refused to even make eye contact with him.

Except Harry.

"Tom," he greeted the representative.

Tom Riddle insisted that everyone else called him Sir Riddle, but he had only once insisted with Harry. Harry had said that, if Tom could beat him in a fight to first blood, he would refer to him by the title bestowed upon him by the king.

Tom had agreed, and everyone had gathered in the center of the village to watch the fight. Tom was armed with a sword, heavy and gleaming, forged of a blinding iron.

Harry was armed with a short wooden spear with a sharpened point, hardened and polished with wax and sap. It was Harry's weapon of choice; eleven inches long and made of holly. When he was young he had found a feather in the forest, one belonging to a mockingbird. He had tied and wrapped it to the base of the stick, then painted over it with sticky sap. He left it in the sun so it would harden and dry. Now, the feather curled prettily around the stick, a beautiful contrast to the light color of the wood, and a slight grip to the stick. The wand.

A man who had accompanied Tom to the village counted them in, starting at three. Tom moved at two, which Harry had expected. He dodged quickly to the side, dancing from right to left and back again, forcing Tom to whirl and turn, forcing him off balance. Tom was wearing heavy leather clothing and iron armor. Harry was wearing a light tunic and leather leggings and soft, worn leather boots. Harry had always been light on his feet, dancing around friend and foe alike. He was the best hunter in the village for this reason; no animal heard him coming.

Tom lunged again, and Harry ducked low to the ground, pushing against Tom's legs and causing him to lose his balance. As Tom fell, Harry moved again, using his wand to knick Tom's cheek.

"First blood," Tom's comrade had called grudgingly.

Tom had stared at Harry, horror and embarrassment writ clearly on his face.

Harry had smiled. "Tom," he'd said, relishing the sound of the name on his lips. "Thank you for the fight. You tried your best, and for that I commend you."

From then on, Tom had been nearly unable to meet Harry's eyes. Harry hoped to keep it that way.

"Do you have it?" Tom asked. He was looking over Harry's shoulder at Arthur, the town's tax collector.

"It's all here," Harry said. "Two hundred gold, as promised."

Tom frowned first, then smiled, cold and cruel. "The price went up," he said, clearly relishing the news. "It's not three hundred gold."

There was a gasp from the crowd that had amassed behind Harry and Arthur. Molly said, "That can't be!" Andromed said, "We had no messenger to tell us of this!"

Harry's stomach dropped, and a cold sweat rose upon his skin.

Tom's smile did not leave his face, and instead grew wider. "I will wait here until the end of the day. If we do not have the extra hundred gold, we will have to report you to the king. Who knows what he will do to punish you.

"Are there lodgings for us?" he asked, speaking to Molly now. She nodded, visibly trembling.

"You can stay in our home," she said, even though Harry knew very well that she did not have the room. She and Arthur had more kids than they knew what to do with, and everyone in the family shared only two rooms. He did not know where she would set up Tom and his men, and he did not wait to find out.

 

***

 

Harry knew the path through the forest like he knew the grip of his wand in his hand. He knew every curve and turn of the path, every ridge and ruffle of the feather of his wand. He knew all the trees and plants, and would normally stop along the path to harvest the herbs that grew nearby to it.

Today, he did not; he did not have the time. The sun would set soon; Tom had arrived late in the day, and would be leaving early in the night. Harry had only one option.

Draco.

And there he was, leaning against the same tree as always, glorious in his nudity and disinterest. He did not look up as Harry approached; his mockingbird was perched on his shoulder once more.

"Harry," he said as Harry drew near. His eyes darted to look at him, but he did not turn his head.

"Draco," Harry replied. He did not stop walking, moving decisively toward Draco, stopping only once he was in his space. For anyone else it would have been too close, uncomfortably so; Draco, however, visibly relaxed at his proximity.

"Why are you here?" Draco asked. He still did not look at Harry, instead watching as his bird hopped sweetly down his bare arm.

"I need your help," Harry said.

Draco's eyes darted to him again, then back to the bird. "Oh?"

"The village is short on gold, and the king's men are here. They will leave at dusk to inform the king, and the villagers will be punished."

"Why does that concern me?" Draco asked. His bird hopped from his forearm to his finger. Draco lifted his other hand, dragging a finger through the soft chest feathers of the mockingbird.

"Because it concerns me," Harry said. "I am important to you, am I not?"

Draco looked away from him, out into the forest. He did not answer; the Fair Folk cannot lie, after all.

"Won't you help me?" Harry asked. He moved closer, which meant that they were touching. Draco's bare skin was surprisingly warm, warmer than Harry had expected from someone who never wore clothing.

"Won't you help me?" the bird asked. Draco sighed, then made a shooing motion at it. It flew away easily, as if it had wanted to do so all along.

"Fine," Draco said. "But I expect something in return. Fae never do anything for free."

Harry hummed his agreement. "What do you desire?"

Draco turned, facing him full on. Their chests touched briefly. Harry moved slightly away.

"You," Draco said, locking eyes with him. In the near darkness, with the sunlight reflecting in them, Draco's eyes were golden.

"Hm," Harry said. He leaned in again, closing the distance between them until their lips just barely touched. Draco's mouth opened eagerly against his, but Harry kept his distance.

"I think that can be arranged.

 

***

 

Draco looked silly in clothing, but he had insisted on accompanying Harry, and Harry had informed him that he could not enter the village with nothing to preserve his modesty.

"The Fae have no modesty," Draco had said.

"Humans do," Harry said. "You cannot enter their village without respecting it, which means that you cannot accompany me without respecting it."

Draco had huffed, but complied. He had gathered leaves and moss and various other plants. With a flicker of his fingers a glowing light gathering in his fingertips, under his nails and in the veins under his pale skin. The glow flowed out from his hands and to the leaves, and the plants turned themselves into a tunic and leggings.

"What about shoes?" Harry asked.

Draco scoffed. "I will not wear shoes," he said. "How will I feel connected to Mother Earth if my skin cannot touch the ground? How will she know where I am if I cannot dig my toes into the dirt?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't wear shoes. I just hope that no one notices."

Harry led the way through the woods, though the undergrowth parted for Draco like commoners parted for royalty. Harry just tramped on through, trying to make enough noise that none of the animals in the wood would approach them.

"We need to hurry," Harry said, glancing up at the sky. The sun was hanging by a thread in the sky, the moon nearly fully apparent in the sky.

"Fae don't hurry, fae-ling. You would do well to learn this."

Harry huffed air through his nose, speeding up his footsteps. Draco did as well, though he did not seem happy about it.

By the time they reached the village the sun was just a golden line at the horizon. The moon was full above them; Harry felt its cold light, like a blanket, upon his shoulders and in his hair.

Tom and his men were readying their horses. Molly was crying in the street, her only daughter clutched against her leg. Ginevra had a bruise still purpling across her left cheek.

"Tom," Harry called. Tom turned around, scowl across his face just as the sunset had been across the sky.

"Harry," he said. "Have you found my gold, or are you here to distract and delay us?"

Harry gestured behind him, entering the center courtyard of the village. Draco was behind him, carrying a simple wooden box. The moonlight glinted in his hair and on his skin, turning him into a sliver of silver. Immediately, all eyes in the village were drawn to him, like moths to a flame.

"Here," Harry said. Draco handed him the box, and Harry pulled open the top.

A gasp rose, once more, through the crowd that had gathered around them. The box was filled to the rim with gold, and precious jewels, and spiderwebbed jewelry, and flowers that glowed, and silver coins that looked older than the wood itself.

Tom looked from Harry to the box, then back again.

"Where did you get this?"

"That is not your concern," said Harry. He reached into the box, pulling out a large sapphire. It was uncut and gleamed in the moonlight, attracting everyone's eyes. "This should cover the rest of our debt, and then some."

Tom sneered. "I can only accept gold."

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Draco got there first, stepping up beside him. Even outside of the wood he looked languid and deadly as a wolf, and just as fierce.

"You will accept this, or die," Draco said.

The air seemed to freeze at his words. It felt as if everyone had sucked in a breath, and no one wanted to be the first to let it out.

"You cannot kill me," Tom finally said, though he did not look as confident as he tried to sound. "The king will have your head." His lip was trembling, and he could not seem to keep eye contact with Draco. This was unsurprising; for everyone else, the gaze of the Fair Folk was intoxicating and near deadly.

Draco scoffed. "The king cannot touch me. No one can, unless I allow it."

No one mentioned the fact that Harry's hand had visibly brushed Draco's when he had taken the box from him.

"You will take the gem, and you will return to your king," Draco continued, spitting out the word king as if it was a curse. "You will not come back until the end of winter, and when you do you will accept any payment we deem fit to offer you."

"I will accept—" Tom began. With a wave of his hand Draco cut him off, as abruptly as if he had plucked Tom's voice from his throat.

"You will accept," Draco repeated in a low, dangerous, feral tone, "whatever we deem fit to offer you."

Tom swallowed, then tried to speak. Harry could see the moment he realized he could not; his eyes widened, and his jaw tensed. Finally he just nodded.

"Good," Draco said. A smile curved his lip; Harry felt it inside him, warm and heavy in his belly. "Now go."

Tom turned, and his men followed him. Harry saw him tuck the sapphire into his pocket.

The men mounted their horses and galloped away, looking back over their shoulders as if they were afraid they would be followed—or chased. Instead, they were ignored.

Draco turned then, looking upon the villages, face still and smooth. When his eyes landed on Ginny, his face softened just a fraction. He reached out a hand and brushed it against her face. Her eyes widened, and her mother gasped, as the bruise across her face melted away like butter in a hot pan.

He drew away again, then turned again to the crowd at large.

"I will be taking Harry to the woods with me," he proclaimed, as if he was the king giving a grand speech to loyal nobility. Harry scoffed just a bit, rolling his eyes and digging his own fingers into his forearm.

"You will still be able to see him, but he will no longer live in the village with you."

Little Theodore stepped forward, brown hair wild and dark eyes big. Harry had taken him under his wing when he was young, as his parents had both been killed by influenza. Harry had understood how that felt; his parents had been long cold in their graves for as long as they could remember.

"Where will he be going?" Theodore asked, voice high and reedy. His chin trembled; he was clearly scared, but forced his fear down so he could satisfy his curiosity.

"I will be living with Draco in the woods," Harry said. He wished he could add, in a sweet little house with a garden and a fence, but he could not, for that would be a lie. Harry could not tell lies; they burned his throat and made him ill, causing a pounding in his head and an aching in his bones.

"He will be able to visit you," Draco said. "Just not as often."

"I will think of you," Harry said. Often, he wished he could add; but alas, he did not think it would be as often as he wanted them to believe. He imagined that the world of the fae would be lively and lovely, and he knew he would spend most of his time with Draco.

"We will leave now," Draco said. "Harry."

Harry nodded to him, then placed the box in Arthur's arms. "Take care of this," he said. "Hide it somewhere where Tom and his men will not find it. Locate your payment well before he comes to get it, and do not let anyone else know where the box is."

Arthur nodded, looking pale and rather frightened. "You have our thanks," he said.

Harry nodded and smiled. He knew it was not a happy smile, but one of sadness, yet also of eagerness. He was looking forward to his new life in the Fae Wood, despite the fact that he had always told himself he would never join them. Deep in his heart, even when he was young, he had known that he would end up there. In some secret, solitary nook in his mind, he had understood that he belonged in the forest, and ever since he had found the mockingbird feather, and seen the pale man in the woods with said bird perched upon his shoulder, he had known he had belonged with him, too.

It was just a matter of time.


	4. Godzilla, short, magenta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco sees Harry after five years in a record store. And then the grocery store. And then the park. And... who's the kid?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um ok i went a little wild with this one... i really like the idea of luna and draco just like having a kid together even though they're both gay, but they like went through a phase. I read a rlly cute fic about it once, so I decided to incorporate it into this. And I like the idea of Harry raising Teddy, even though realistically I know that's a shit idea haha.
> 
> thank you to B_y_e_Felicia for the prompt!

The first thing Draco thought when he saw Harry Potter for the first time in five years was,  _ He's shorter than I thought he would be. _

 

All throughout school Harry, despite being skinny and on the smaller side, had such a big presence in Draco's life that he seemed tall and large, a Hagrid-sized being that drew Draco's attention no matter where he was. Seeing him now, after all this time, and in a small muggle record shop, made him seem tiny.

 

He couldn't have been taller than one hundred and seventy-five centimeters, if that, and maybe ten, eleven stone. His hair was longer than it ever had been in school, and tied at the back of his head in a bun. He was wearing a short-sleeved denim button-down and dark jeans tapered at the ankle, and he looked really good in them. The last time Draco had seen Harry he'd been wearing a t-shirt that looked about seventy sizes too big, and stained sweatpants. His hair had been a mess, greasy and lanky to the point that it didn't even stick up all over his head in its usual fashion. His eyes had been a dull green, like a plant that's just died.

 

This had been during the Death Eater trials, all of which Harry had been forced to attend. Even Draco, who had been kept in a cold, quiet, gray Ministry holding cell as he'd awaited his trial had been worried for Harry when he'd seen him on the stand. He looked worn thin, like a rug that's been stepped on too many times, or cloth that's been washed and wrung out too often, or a book that's been opened and flicked through and closed so many times that it barely resembled its original form. His pages had been worn thin, his binding splitting at the seams.

 

Draco is relieved to see him now, years later, looking clean and cared for. His curls are as flyaway and crazy as usual, though they are almost tamed by the hair tie. His eyes are bright, like fresh green wood, and there's a smile lingering around his lips and the corners of his eyes, just waiting to be unleashed.

 

Draco wants to go talk to him, more than almost anything that he's ever wanted before. He doesn't though. He maybe would have, were it not for the smile just waiting to be tugged out from its hiding place. Harry looks happy, and Draco cannot imagine that seeing him after all these years would make him anything but sad.

 

Draco turns around and makes for the door, the one he had only minutes ago stepped through. He was supposed to be running errands, but when he had seen the little record shop he had thought that maybe he could find something that Luna would like. Luna loved records and old muggle music, and Draco loved getting Luna things that made her happy.

 

The door opened with a clatter and Draco winced, hoping that Harry hadn't heard. He left the store in a rush, glancing over his shoulder as he stepped out into the murky London light. The sky had been more clear when he had first entered the shop, but clear skies didn't last long in England.

 

He made his way down the street, walking fast in the hope that, if Harry left the store, he would not immediately see him. Draco knew that he stood out in a crowd. When he had been younger it was something that had made him inordinately happy, but now, as a former Death Eater, it was something that caused him pain and made him nervous. It was impossible to shop in any wizarding area without being immediately recognized, and the vitriol that was thrown at him once he was reminded him of Snape when he got going on Neville.

 

Luna did most of the magical shopping, these days.

 

He was out of the area in less than five minutes, and managed to avoid seeing Harry at any point. He allowed himself a sigh of relief before continuing his shopping. He would just have to make sure not to come to this area again.

  
  


***

  
  


The second time Draco saw Harry Potter was in a Tesco near his house. A Tesco! Near his  _ own house! _ Was he just unable to go out anymore? Would he be forced to live the life of a hermit? He had thought the muggle world was safe for him, but clearly that was wrong, because here was  _ Harry fucking Potter _ , looking down at bags of fried frozen fish in the freezer aisle.

 

"Er, time to turn around, Pan," he said to the little girl latched onto his hand. 

 

"But we just came down this way," she said, blue eyes as big and knowing as her mother's. Her light hair was tied up in two long ponytails, and her thumb was in her mouth. (They were working hard on getting her to stop sucking it, but it was definitely a work in progress.)

 

"Yes, but I forgot something," he said nervously, glancing down the aisle to where Harry still stood, weighing two bags in his hand as if he could tell the better deal from how they felt.

 

"No you didn't," Pandora said, speaking around her thumb. Her fingernails were painted blue and green:  _ Just like Mummy and Daddy's Hogwarts houses, right? _ "I read the list. We got everything we need except for the frozens."

 

"We forgot something," Draco insisted, but Pandora had her mother's way of landing on the issue as if it was a neon sign. She glanced down the aisle, eyes sliding from person to person until they landed on a shock of black hair.

 

"It's that man, isn't it?" she asked. "Him, with the dark hair? You don't want to see him."

 

Draco tugged on her hand and began leading her toward the end of the aisle. Surprisingly she allowed this, though she stared at Harry the entire time. Her powder blue bar shoes scuffed against the dirty Tesco floor. She always insisted on dressing fancy whenever they went out; this was apparently common with four year olds. Today she was wearing an ice blue frilly dress, white stockings, her favorite blue bar shoes, and two powder blue bow ties on her ponytails.

 

_ She gets it from your side, _ Luna'd said that morning as she'd buckled her shoes for her. She was wearing ripped, paint-splattered jeans and a ragged t-shirt that may have been older than their child. Draco had been unable to protest that.

 

"I think we should go talk to him," Pandora said. Her voice was high and airy, and she was looking to the ceiling instead of the floor. Draco had to guide her around like a dog on a lead lest she topple over half the store.

 

"I'd really rather not," Draco told her as they settled in line at the checkout stand. "Maybe some other time."

 

"'Maybe' is just another way of saying no," she sang, as if quoting someone.

 

"No," Draco said. "Maybe's a way of saying 'maybe, but hopefully not'."

 

She gave him a disapproving look. For someone who hadn't yet met McGonagall, she certainly did a good job of channeling her.

 

"We're supposed to face our fears," she told him. "That's what Mummy tells you."

 

"Mummy spends far too much time with Gryffindors," Draco explained. "Slytherins say to hide your fears until you forget about them."

 

She pouted; she was excellent at it. It had taken him a full year and a half to realize that he could not give her whatever she wanted when she pouted like that, and it was something that Luna was still learning.  _ Of course I gave her cake for breakfast, she looked so sad when I said no. _

 

" _ Da! _ " he heard from across the store. "Da, come look at this!"

 

Draco paused for a moment to let out a good old harumph. His daughter may have a doll face and know how to use it, but at least she knew better than to shout in the store.

 

"Look!" his doll-faced daughter cried, pointing to the checkout stand beside them. "That boy looks just like the man we saw just now!"

 

So much for not shouting in the store.

 

He turned to look at the line next to them and was nearly knocked flat on his arse by the breath that was knocked out of him. He hadn't known Harry at six, but he had known him at eleven, at twelve, skin and bones and a mess of dark hair and piercing green eyes that made you feel as if he knew every thought that crossed your mind. The boy in line next to them looked like that but smaller, shorter, chubbier. His cheeks were rosy and pick, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were green—though not the same green. This boy didn't look as if he'd peered into the secrets of the universe and found it lacking.

 

Pandora let go of his hand and flounced across the aisle until she was toe-to-toe with the mini-Harry. It was like watching a live-action remake of  _ Lady and the Tramp _ , which Luna had forced him to watch roughly seventy times while they were dating. Pandora had her frills and lace and pearl clip-on earrings, and this boy was wearing a t-shirt that said  _ Godzilla _ , with a picture of a weird reptilian monster underneath.

 

"Who are you?" Pandora asked.

 

The boy looked at her for a moment, thick eyebrows creased in the middle. "Who're you?"

 

"I'm Pandora Annaliese Lovegood!" Pandora said brightly. When she smiled her teeth were crooked, and Draco desperately hoped they stayed that way. Right now they were the only thing that made her look something other than a pretty china doll.

 

"I'm Teddy Lupin," the boy said. His green eyes were—were not green. Now they were blue; the same as Pandora's, in fact. "Why're you talking to me?"

 

"You look just like a man that my daddy was afraid to talk to earlier," Pandora said.

 

"Pandora," Draco said. "There's no need to go about telling strangers our entire life story."

 

Pandora turned disdainful eyes his way. "I'm  _ not. _ "

 

"That's my god da," Teddy explained. Suddenly Draco remembered this boy; his cousin's son. He hadn't realized Harry had been named his godfather. "His name's Harry."

 

Pandora giggled, and Teddy frowned at her. 

 

"Why're you laughing?" he demanded.

 

She laughed again. "That's a silly name."

 

The boy's face grew red, blotchy with anger. "You've a silly name! I've never even heard it before!"

 

Pandora drew herself up imperiously, flicking one of her long blonde ponytails over her shoulder. She was carrying a small blue handbag in one hand, Draco now noticed, and she flourished it in the air as she said, "I was named for my  _ grandmother _ ."

 

The boy huffed. "I was named for my  _ grandfather _ ."

 

" _ Next _ ," called the checkout lady. Draco grabbed Pandora's hand before she could say something else, and they both sidled forward in line to put their items on the conveyor belt.

 

"We're next," Draco told Pandora, even though it was obvious, since the woman was already scanning their items. "Please don't antagonize other children while we're waiting in line at the store."

 

Pandora huffed. "He antagonized me."

 

Draco huffed back. "You  _ literally _ started it Pandy, don't even try to blame this on him. It was all you."

 

She slanted her eyes at him in another brilliantly executed contemptuous look that would have brought even his mother to tears. " _ Mummy _ wouldn't say it was my fault."

 

They had reached the end of the line. Draco swiped his muggle card through the muggle machine and began handing bags to his daughter. " _ Mummy _ doesn't know you're a little devil on the inside."

 

The checkout lady gave him a look as if he had just admitted to child abuse, and Draco felt himself begin to blush.

 

"Don't look at my daddy like that," Pandora said, looking just as imperious as she had when speaking to Draco. "It's none of  _ your _ business."

 

The lady looked shocked as she passed Draco his receipt.

 

" _ Mind your manners!" _ Draco hissed to Pandora. "Now let's go, quickly, I don't want to have to add speaking to Harry in public to the list of embarrassing things that happened today."

 

He hoisted up the rest of the bags and the two of them walked from the store, Pandora skipping along, her little shoes clacking on the cobbles. Draco loved her something fierce, even if she was a little nightmare.

  
  


***

  
  


The third time that Draco saw Harry they were at a park near his house. It was one of those that had a splash pad there, so that you could bring some snacks and let your child go bonkers in the water while you read a book or something, looking up every once in a while to make sure your little angel wasn't trying to piss down the drain in the center of it. ("I thought it was a  _ loo! _ ")

 

Pandora was running around somewhere, and Luna was chasing after her. Pandora was wearing an honest-to-God swimsuit-dress, looking like the ghost of some Victorian child, and Luna was wearing a barely-there bikini that she had to keep jerking up her torso because it was a bit too big, and she kept forgetting it was there.

 

Draco was sitting on a picnic blanket under a tree so as to not burn his snow-white skin. He had cast a very discreet spell to convince bugs not to land near him, and he was quite busy enjoying  _ Good Omens _ and a glass of cheap wine, and trying to pretend he didn't have a daughter and an ex-girlfriend who were making fools of themselves nearby.

 

"Fancy seeing you here," said a voice to his right. Draco jumped, sloshing wine all over his book. He allowed himself a silent moment of despair for the fact that he would not be able to magic the wine from the pages until he was out of muggle view, in which time the color might set and his book might be ruined  _ permanently _ .

 

Before he could look up to see who had just  _ ruined _ his perfectly good afternoon, they had plopped down on the blanket next to him, as if they had every right to do so. Draco looked up, ready to tell off whoever had the  _ audacity _ to sit next to him—and then realized it was Harry.

 

"Wha—" he said. He was still holding his book in one hand, his now-half-empty glass of wine in the other, and beside him was Harry Potter, Chosen One and Saviour, looking utterly edible in ugly magenta swim shorts and a fitted black t-shirt.

 

"You've been avoiding me," Harry said with a smile. He waved a casual hand, and suddenly the wine was gone from Draco's book. It was also now mostly gone from his glass, too.

 

"Ah, fuck," Harry said with a grimace. "Still getting the hang of wandless magic."

 

Draco just gaped. Even if he'd been physically able to form words, he had no idea what he could conceivably  _ say _ .  _ You've been avoiding me _ . How had he  _ known _ ?

 

"That's your little girl then, eh?" Harry asked, nodding across the park to where Luna, Pandora, and now Teddy were making utter fools of themselves. "Luna told me she'd had a little one, but she wouldn't tell any of us who the father was, and I guess legally her last name's just Lovegood, so none of us were even able to snoop around to find out."

 

"Thought it would be better for her," Draco managed to get out. He felt like his mouth was full of crackers. "Not to be associated with… us."

 

Harry leaned back on his hands. He looked good; he always looked good, but today he looked… Draco couldn't think of a word other than  _ yummy _ , and immediately he wanted to slap himself for how stupid he sounded, even if it was just to himself.

 

"Makes sense," Harry said. "When I adopted Teddy I thought the same thing. Why force the Potter name on him, y'know? He's already gonna grow up in the limelight. I don't wanna make it worse."

 

Draco swallowed and nodded. He was sure his face was as pink as his daughter's swimwear by now, and he was not thrilled by it.

 

"How old is she, then?" Harry asked. His head lolled onto one shoulder so that he could give Draco a very lazy, very sexy look. Draco wished he was anywhere but here.

 

"Four-and-a-half," Draco said. "Her name's Pandora."

 

Harry smiled, and it was like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds. "So  _ that's _ what Teddy was trying to say! I couldn't figure it out, and then he said she was named for her  _ grandfather _ and I was like…" He wrinkled his nose. "I couldn't imagine that you would have allowed  _ that _ to happen."

 

"Can you  _ imagine, _ " Draco said, unable to keep the distress from his voice. "Believe me, she wanted it. It's a family name, apparently, but I told her in no uncertain terms that the baby and I would be leaving to America and never coming back if she put that name anywhere  _ near _ the birth certificate. 'Xenophilia' as  _ if _ ."

 

Harry laughed. "That's almost word for word what I imagined you saying. I told him that he must be wrong about the name, and he threw a fit like you wouldn't believe."

 

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "You haven't seen a fit until you've seen Pandora not get her way. Luna will bend over backwards and forwards again to give her whatever she wants, and as soon as I put my foot down it's like the muggle cold war. It's like living in hostile territory. She doesn't even have to  _ say _ anything, she just gives you this McGonagall look that makes you feel about eleven again, then says she expected better of you."

 

Harry snorted. "Oh good lord, you've got one of  _ those _ , huh? You should see Bill and Fleur's little girl, she's the same. If it's not handed to her on a silver platter she acts like you've just beheaded a dove. At least Teddy just screams a bit and gets over it. If I had to deal with that shit I'd lose my mind."

 

They lapsed into silence then, and Draco had no idea how to continue. He set his glass down, then his book, then picked his book back up again, then sat it back down, then fiddled with the hem of his shirt and did his best not to look at Harry. This was easier said than done, because Harry looked  _ good _ . He looked  _ scrumptious _ , he looked  _ ludicrous _ , he looked like something that Draco wanted to cover in chocolate and  _ eat _ —though that was getting a bit ahead of himself, wasn't it?

 

"Why've you been avoiding me?" Harry asked, lolling his head onto his shoulder again to look at Draco. It was like being looked at by the sun; warm, and terrifying.

 

"I don't know," Draco said with a shrug. "Seemed a bit. Awkward, I guess. Running into your ex-nemesis at the local Tesco's."

 

Harry shrugged. "Is there a better place?"

 

Draco hesitated. "Here, maybe? If I have to leave I can just blame it on Pandora."

 

Harry shrugged. "Makes sense, I guess. Dunno. I just feel it's best to get it over with, isn't it? Rip off a band-aid and all that. Don't just sit in your own muck and get all grimy."

 

"You speak like your sentences are only half-finished," Draco mused, the ghost of a smile curling his lip.

 

Harry smiled back. "You sound like a damn professor. Got all these fancy words. Me, I'm tired. Been up since six since Teddy likes to practice quidditch. Don't have time for all this frillery."

 

Draco snorted. "I've been up since four, Potter. You're going to have to work harder to get on my level."

 

Harry grinned, then shifted slightly closer so that the tips of their fingers brushed together. "Alright," he said. "Maybe I will."

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I'm just going to write something short.  
> Me, 3500 words later:


End file.
